Ramadan away from home in Sudan

Just four months ago, their lives were very different. Preparations for Ramadan meant stocking up on essential provisions, brewing traditional drinks like abri (a Sudanese drink made from dried corn and spices), and cooking their favourite Ramadan dishes together. Today, they live in a classroom, holding onto the memories of past Ramadans amid uncertainty and hardship.

A Ramadan unlike any other 

Al-Nazeer and his family were forced to flee their home when the conflict that has engulfed Sudan spread to their village. Along with many other displaced people from the village and surrounding areas, they embarked on a journey to a neighbouring settlement. They walked for several kilometres, each step heavy with the weight of their loss. 

‘’We came here four months ago. Initially, we stayed with other families in a house, but it was overcrowded. Then, we moved to this school," says Al-Nazeer, sitting on the floor of the classroom that has become his temporary home. 

Back home, community defined Ramadan. Neighbours gathered in the fields each evening to break their fast with the meal called iftar and go to the Taraweeh prayers together. But now, even water is hard to obtain, let alone the cherished community spirit. 

With the arrival of Ramadan, the family has felt the loss of their home more acutely. They were used to preparing everything in advance, but now they barely have enough food each day. 

Kalil, another displaced person at the school, shares the feeling of nostalgia: 

"We used to buy everything we needed before Ramadan – oil, dates, flour – everything was ready for the holy month. But after the war, we couldn’t buy anything. The people of Gedaref and the organisations have helped us, but we still miss so much." 

Last year's Ramadan 

For Halima, a relative of Al-Nazeer, Ramadan in the school is unlike any she has experienced before. 

"This is my first Ramadan I have ever spent away from home! In our village, we spent the day preparing iftar and dinner, cleaned the house in the morning, and went to the Taraweeh prayers in the evening,” she says. 

“But here, everything is completely different... We cannot even find a proper place to pray. I asked about a mosque nearby for women but couldn’t find one." 

In her home village, Ramadan meant sharing and community support. Now, the isolation of displacement weighs heavily on Halima. 

"My neighbour would cook something and give us some, and we would also share our food with her. Even our daily bread brought us together. Before Ramadan, we used to prepare abri in an atmosphere full of love and cooperation between the neighbours. But here, we only find abri from a few good-hearted people and neighbours," she says. 

Al-Ilish, the community leader at the school, vividly recalls the sense of unity from past Ramadans: 

"We would pray Fajr, then sleep for a little while before visiting family....  Anyone working outside the village would return home for Ramadan, making it a time for everyone to meet." 

Meals prepared at home always taste better, especially during Ramadan. Halima misses cooking familiar dishes with familiar ingredients. In displacement, they no longer taste the same. 

"Na'ima here is not like it used to be," she says, referring to a traditional dish. "Everyone loves food made during Ramadan, like asida with taglia (a dish made with lamb broth, onions and spices) or na’ima (a dish with minced meat, yogurt, and tomatoes), which Al-Nazeer loves very much." 

The children and their lost memories 

Displacement has disrupted even the simplest joys of childhood. Ibrahim longs for his old friends and the games they played back home. 

"There, I would play football with my friends, and in the autumn, we would play in the mud. During Ramadan, we would play in the field under the lights, dividing ourselves into teams,” he recalls. 

For iftar, he remembers sitting with the men outside while some of the children ate with the women inside. Excitedly, he adds about his favourite food: "I love asida with na'ima, that’s what I miss the most about Ramadan!" 

Despite the hardships they face, the family has not lost hope. Al-Nazeer remains realistic yet determined: 

"After the security situation stabilised, we decided to spend Ramadan here to sort out our situation and save some money. If we go back, we won’t find anything. There are no flour mills, no electricity, and no medical care. If we decide to return, we’ll need to buy flour from here." 

Khalil, who needs an eye operation, feels frustrated by the lack of resources: "Even travelling has become difficult. We don’t have the money to return home, and even if we do, life there is non-existent." 

But for Halima, the hope of returning remains strong." We plan to return after Eid al-Fitr, but we hope to return all together, the whole family. We’ve lost a lot, but we want to reclaim a part of what we lost," she says. 

Keeping traditions alive 

Despite the challenges, the families are trying to preserve the Ramadan spirit. Al-Ilish talks about their attempt to bring back some communal atmosphere: "In the school, we try to break our fast together as we did in the village. Each family sits with their own people, and we try to create some of the Ramadan spirit that we have missed." 

But the situation is not easy. Resources are scarce, and daily expenses are high. "Here, we need 15,000–20,000 Sudanese pounds just for iftar, and that doesn’t include dinner. Back there, we would prepare everything in advance, but here, we go out daily looking for food," says Al-Ilish. 

Humanitarian assistance from the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) has provided much-needed relief in the form of food vouchers. "These vouchers helped us buy flour, sugar, oil, and some other necessities. They weren’t enough for the entire month, but they eased some of our hardship, especially with the rising prices", Al-Ilish notes. 

More than 800 displaced families in Gedaref state benefited from the e-voucher programme, most of whom are from the eastern Island region. These vouchers helped the families secure some of the essentials during Ramadan, a time when their food needs increase. 

Yet, the profound challenges persist, making this Ramadan starkly different from the warmth and abundance they once knew. 

One wish: an end to the war 

When asked about their wishes for the future, the answer is heartfelt and unanimous: 

Al-Ilish adds: "The war must stop all over Sudan, and everyone should be able to return to their homes in Khartoum and Madani. We want Sudan to be better than it was." 

Despite all they have lost, and even though they are far from their homes, they are striving to hold onto their memories, traditions, and hope of returning home. 

But until that day comes, the question remains: when will Ramadan return to what it once was?